


Total System Meltdown

by thegirlgrey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coach Finstock/Greenberg, Heartbreak, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Misunderstandings, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Teen Wolf, pool boy, pool boy Derek, summer loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlgrey/pseuds/thegirlgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has the hots for Lydia's pool boy. Sadly, Lydia’s pool boy is not Derek Hale. Nobody’s told Stiles that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Burn Myself, But Just Had To Touch It

While Lydia is doing her summer internship in Berkeley’s Applied Physics department (and Stiles uses the term internship lightly because Lydia has managed to A) only work Tuesdays and Thursday instead of Monday to Friday B) get three college course credits  _and_  3 lab hour credits out of it, and C) get paid for it.), she stays over Wednesday nights in the Whitmore family's townhouse. She's asked that Stiles look in on Prada while her mom is in Nice, France with her new beau. For the first two weeks of summer vacation, Stiles goes over later in the evening. It ends up clashing with the only time he can see his dad who always takes on the end of the week late night shifts, so he could give his deputies prime time to spend with their kids over the summer. Stiles decides to get up early to eat breakfast with his dad, which frees up more time for his morning runs to keep up his conditioning for track, and then goes over to the Martin's to keep Prada some company while soaking up some rays by the pool.

The whole backyard is being overhauled. Stiles remembers Susan saying something about it reminding her of her ex-husband, and both she and Lydia hated how urban it looked. Stiles kind of agreed. Backyards should be green and lush not cement and artfully placed stone. The pool was also converted to salt water (after a horrible incident where Jackson let Prada out on accident, and she drank too much chlorinated water). Lydia warned him that the landscape architect would be over occasionally and not to spaz when the pool boy let himself in the back gate. Stiles listened when she said all this. He did. He read the note she left and the text she sent. But that doesn’t mean he consciously remembers. So when he pulls up to the Martin’s and lets himself in, he is only expecting Prada. He scoops her up where she greets him at the door and coos at her.

“It’s a lovely day to get some vitamin D huh, P-dog?”

Lydia hates that he gives her ridiculous nicknames, but Prada seems happy enough nuzzling at him. She now responds to Fluffy Butt and Cuddle Buddykins. He puts her down long enough to shuck his flip flops and his jeans, tossing them on the chaise lounge near the French doors leading the new patio and pool. He’s glad he had the forethought to put his blue trunks on underneath because the pool house is being used as a holding space for some plants right now. Stiles pockets his phone and snags a towel and a bottle of water from the bar while palming the remote for the outdoor sound system. He dials it to the playlist he wants and starts rocking out. Singing along, he tosses the water and towel onto a deck chair and makes sure to leave a crack in the door so Prada can get in if she gets too hot. Somehow, he manages to get his shirt stuck on his sunglasses because he’s too busy swinging his hips and warbling along to the music.  
  
"I can't wait 'til I get you on the floor, good-looking. Going hot, so hot, just like an oven. I'llllllllll burn myself, but just had to touch it. But it's so fiiiiiine, and it's all miiiiine. Hey, baby!"  
  
He pulls his shirt off over his head while his sunglass clattering to the new deck while he lets out a victorious shout. He is met with the most gorgeous pool boy to ever pool boy. Greek Adonis with a net in hand. Model levels hot. So hot he puts the sun to shame. Stiles is like 87% sure he's as red as Prada’s Prada collar. He hastily grabs the remote from his pocket and turns the volume down.  
  
“Uh, sorry. Hi! I did not know you'd be here today.”

Hazel green eyes bore into him from across the pool, and Stiles rubs at his neck nervously.  
  
“I mean Lydia said you'd let yourself in. I just didn’t think anyone would be here. Now. To see me get stuck in my own shirt. And dancing and singing very badly to JT. But I mean come on, Justin is the shit, and this album was a long time coming, and it’s pretty freaking catchy, you know?”

Smoking hot pool boy quirks an eyebrow. Stiles tries not to make a strangled noise because that shouldn’t be attractive. _Dear god_. He points to the pool.

“Are you done with that? Because I need to drown myself now.”

The pool boy makes a show of shrugging his ridiculous, gorgeous shoulders. Tank tops that tight should be illegal or only legal if you have the sheer shoulder mass and downright sinful definition to pull it off. This pool boy does. Stiles repeats:  _dear god_.

“I would prefer if you didn’t. I’d have to drain the pool, and the salt water levels are just balancing out.”

Stiles can feel his jaw dropping. Because the line is delivered with the perfect ratio of deadpan, blank facedness, and sarcasm laced words that it speaks directly to Stiles' soul. The guy is smoking hot, and he’s sharp and funny.  _Dear. God._  Stiles is so screwed. He is completely and totally screwed because this guy is so far out of his league. But while his self preservation instincts scream at him to ABORT MISSION, his mouth is already moving.

“I’m Stiles.”

He’d offer a hand, but they are separated by the width of the pool. Instead, he gestures at the house behind him.

“I’m Lydia’s...”  
  
The introduction kind of falls flat because Prada is too busy investigating HPB (Hot Pool Boy). Stiles is about to call her back when HPB bends down to scratch at her ears. He smiles as her gently, muttering about her being “a pretty girl,” and Stiles has to viciously bite down on his own tongue from making a keening sound. He likes animals too? God is punishing Stiles…or Buddha, or whomever benevolent deity is out there. This is a test, a sick, sick test or something. This was supposed to be a boring summer. Load up on a couple online English courses. Hang out with his dad and his friends. Look after Prada. Blatantly make use of Lydia’s badass pool. Go back to school ready for track with a killer tan. This was not in the cards at all. He doesn’t know how to handle this. He clears his throat as Prada darts off to prance around her new backyard.

“Well, on Wednesdays, I’m her dog sitter.”

He laughs a little manically at himself but gets it under control quickly. It just comes out sounding a little self deprecating. He rubs at the back of his neck again. It’s already warm, from the sun or from the latent embarrassment, he doesn’t want to know either way.

“So you’re responsible for Lydia’s new pool?”

It sounds completely forced and stilted and so, so awkward. Stiles wants the world to swallow him whole. He hasn’t been this awkward since high school. HPB doesn’t seem to sense his severe embarrassment. Instead, he gives him another raised eyebrow, accompanied by a small uptick of the corner of his mouth. The world can eat Stiles later because _holy shit_ , that was a smile. Maybe. If you squinted.

“Little bit.”

For lack of anything better to do, Stiles nods and motions to the yard in general.

“That’s cool. I, uh, I’m not going to bug you or get in your way if I just crash out here?”

HPB uses the pole net to scoop out a few more leaves.

“As long as you don’t track any leaves back in the pool, we’re fine.”

He barely restrains from letting the words “ _You’re fine_.” out of his mouth. Instead, he nods jerkily and motions toward the deck lounger.

“I’ll just be over here then.”

He doesn’t look back up at HPB because that way lies danger. (Okay, so he sneaks a few peeks at him behind the safety of his rescued Ray-Ban knockoffs. Sue him.) Instead he pulls out his phone and taps a message to Lydia.

**_“WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME YOUR POOL BOY IS RIDICULOUSLY HOT???”_ **

It’s sent with proper grammar because it’s  _Lydia_. She doesn’t do text speak, and she sure as hell doesn’t respond to it. Her reply is almost instantaneous for someone with such a demanding internship.

**_“Because my pool boy isn’t.”_ **

Stiles snorts at his phone as he gnaws at his lip as he texts back slightly distracted by the play of HBP’s muscles under his tank as he reaches to empty the net.

**_“Clearly Jackson has ruined you for all other pretty people.”_ **

He re-reads that last message and types out another hasty one.

**_“DO NOT tell him I said that. DO NOT even mention I made a vague reference to him being pretty.”_ **

He gets distracted again because HPB is bending over to check out the little in ground vent/pump/filter thingy. Stiles would have probably swallowed his own tongue by now if not for the phone trilling in his lap.

**_“Too late.”_ **

Stiles gets distracted harassing Lydia to really notice HPB packing his things up. Stiles jerks his head up at the sound of a throat clearing.

“I’ll be heading out now.”

He jerks a thumb toward the back gate. Stiles nods like an idiot. Prada is staring at him like he is anyway. He ignores her.

“Uh, yeah, you did an awesome job.”

He looks kind of confused and maybe like he’s about to say something, so Stiles rushes on. His mouth was always faster than his brain.

“Seriously, Lydia should pay you more. I’ll rally on your behalf, man.”

HPB shakes his head, huffing a little.

“See you later, Stiles.”

Stiles swears he doesn’t swoon when he hears his name fall from Hot Pool Boy’s lips. Stiles is just hot, and the chair is comfortable. He leans back willingly. Before HPB ducks out of the back gate, he throws a look over his shoulder.

“It really is a good album.”

The small upturn of his lips, barely a smirk, tells Stiles he isn’t joking. Stiles waits until HPB’s out of hearing range to bury his face in his hands. He likes the same music too, his brain happily supplies. Stiles revisits the idea about drowning himself in the pool. Prada leaves him to his misery. Like mother, like furry daughter really.

* * *

Stiles all but slams the glass back down as he slumps into the bar.

“Hit me again, Erica.”

Isaac frowns where he’s putting up clean glasses.

“I think you’ve had enough, Stiles.”

Stiles pouts at him. Erica, the blond goddess that she is, slides another brownie in front of him. But she does level him with a look as she crosses her arms and cocks a hip to rest against the marble countertop.

“This is your last one. I’m not going to be responsible for sending you home to the Sheriff in a sugar coma.”

He grumbles into his brownie. It’s almost demolished anyway.

“He was so beautiful, Erica. His sense of humor was just, it reached me on an emotional level. He likes the same music as me. I mean, he liked one album, but that means we are more likely to have the same musical tastes.”

She sighs but doesn’t move from her spot. He licks some frosting from his thumb.

“Even his eyebrows were beautiful. God, cleaning a pool shouldn’t be that hot. And oh, he likes animals. He is an attractive, funny, animal person, who has a job, and likes the music I like.”

She snorts, wipes down the counter, and ignores the customers waiting to place an order. Stiles thinks the _Wolf’s Den Cafe_ stays open partially because most of the customers that come in like getting abused by the staff and partially because they have the best desserts in town. It helps that the entire staff is gorgeous. Ugh, why are all of Stiles’ friends stupidly attractive?

“And I made a complete ass of myself. I mean I was dancing like an idiot, and I was singing, Erica.  _Singing_. Then if he wasn’t blind and tone deaf already, I take off my shirt and expose him to a whole new shade of Casper white and just, total system meltdown from there.”

Erica pats at his head way more gently that he’d ever give her credit for. Fuck. If Erica is pitying him, it must be bad.

“So, same as usual just a little more nip slip?”

He flails away from her and almost completely off the bar stool. He rips what’s left of his brownie off the plate and glares at her nestling it as close to his chest without smashing it into his shirt or hand (as much as he can manage).

“Oh my god. Why? Why would you say something like that?”

He starts to retreat to lick his wounds in peace. Her cackle still follows him out the door. 


	2. Since I Saw Your Face I've Been Staring Just the Same

Stiles goes back the following Wednesday without any expectations. Really. The extra iced lemon lavender mint tea from the _Wolf’s Den_ is just because he’s thirsty from this morning’s extra long run. Completely normal. He manages to balance both cups in one hand while tucking one of his course novels under his arm to make his way out to the patio. Prada darts out eager to play before it gets too hot. Stiles isn’t disappointed when the backyard only holds a few bags of fertilizer and mulch and a very sad looking baby tree. He isn’t. He sticks the extra drink under the shade of his chair and cracks open Dickens and prays his Adderall will hold up.

Eventually, he gives in and downs the backup tea. It’s really starting to feel like summer, and it is hard work unraveling all of Dickens’s philosophies between man and society, alright? The guy has a lot of concerns that Stiles has to wheedle out between sentences. Miss Havisham setting herself on fire makes him pause.

“Oh, that is not pleasant.”

A snort proceeds a familiar voice.

“It’s _Great Expectations_. You really thought it was going to be pleasant?”

Stiles nearly brains himself with his book.

“Jesus fuck, man! Where the hell did you come from!?”

Prada startles awake from her napping spot on his shins, yips at him, and moves over to the empty lounger. Stiles waves his hand at her in apology. HPB looks like he’s trying to contain his laughter. He’s kind of failing at it, and Stiles can’t hate him for it. He’s just a gorgeous as he was a week ago. Maybe even more so. He’s wearing this mossy green shirt that is doing amazing things to his eyes. And his lips are moving and shit, he's talking. Stiles tunes back in.

“-re for over an hour, Stiles. I thought you noticed.”

Stiles gestures at his book and ignores the bright red flush he feels creeping up his neck.

“I kind of get into the zone when I’m reading sometimes.”

HPB nods like he understands, but there’s laughter still in his eyes.

“God, what they hell have I been saying?”

HPB wipes his hand on his jeans. Stiles loses a couple neurons to the sight of fabric clinging to sculpted thighs. It’s whatever. He didn’t need them anyway.

“Nothing much. “Pip, you need to man the fuck up. Mrs. Havisham is creepy as the fuck. Wow, Estella way to be a heartless bitch.” Nothing not true at least.”

He shrugs and picks up a spade.

“I liked it better for its imagery than Dickens’s life lessons.”

Stiles smiles at him. His book now forgotten and half closed in his lap.

“Yeah, me too. Huh, didn’t figure you for a Victorian Literature fan, dude.”

He shrugs, and that smirk is playing at his lips again.

“I like reading.”

He can’t seem to stop himself from picturing Derek in some old school library, surrounded by leather bound books, and old wingback leather cigar chairs. He wonders briefly if Derek likes Fitzgerald, will share his confusion over his simultaneous love and hatred for Holden Caulfield, or if he cried when Dobby died.

“And don’t call me dude.”

Stiles smirks and pulls his thoughts back.

“I can’t promise I won’t, but it would help if I knew your name.”

HPB smirks. It’s just a rueful uptick of his lips, gone before it’s even there, but it sends Stiles' heart all a flutter. (Yes, he secretly is a 14-year-old girl. Thank you, Jackson.)

“Derek.”

Stiles nods and looks back to his book before his eyes stayed glued to Derek’s ass as he squats to start arranging the fertilizer and mulch before he transplants the tree. And hold up-

“Are you supposed to be doing that?”

Derek turns halfway, so he won’t be craning his head over his shoulder to look at Stiles. He looks a little confused. It shows in the slight rising of his eyebrows. (They are like a language all their own and Stiles really, really wants to learn it, okay?)

“Yes?”

Stiles bites his lips for a second. Because on one hand, if the pool boy screws up the backyard Lydia is going to be pissed, but on the other, Derek looks like he knows what he’s doing. It looks like it comes to him easily, naturally, and it reminds him a bit of his mom in their little wild, unruly, but completely nurtured garden. He swallows and nods.

“Well, alright then.”

Derek nods once and turns back to his work. Stiles racks his brain to keep the conversation going. But, it’s as he opens his mouth, that he notices that Derek’s shoulders are tense and his eyes are focused on the task at hand. Stiles bites back a sigh and picks up his book. He’s learned not to push people. Just because he has a runaway mouth doesn’t mean everyone else does or appreciates it.

“What are you reading it for?”

Stiles is nearly pulled back into the book, nearly because Derek is like a ping on his radar. Stiles is acutely aware of his presence. Aware, and just, kind of, a little bit distracted by it.

“Hmm?”

There is a streak of dirt up one sun kissed forearm. It makes him look part of the soft calm of the newly remade backyard. It’s a very good look on him.

“The book. It's not exactly summer reading material.”

Stiles laughs softly to himself.

“I'm taking a few online courses this summer to get them out of the way.”

Derek nods, and Stiles thinks that will be the end of it. But Derek keeps speaking even though Stiles can see the stiffness of his shoulders and knows that it’s not that easy for him. Who knew that week long lecture on body language would pay off?

“What classes are you taking?” 

“Victorian Novels which I am really surprised that I like so much. Victorian England Girl Power!”

The sound of Derek’s snort is quiet, but it makes Stiles grin more.

“Gothic Literature, you really can’t go wrong with Poe though that one Faulkner story about Emily is hella creepy. And American Folklore. Zora Neale Hurston would have been a blast to sit down and talk to."

Derek’s eyebrows move in a complicated manner that Stiles can only guess at. He thinks it's a weird mix of courses. 

“I’m majoring in Criminology with a minor in Literature. I couldn’t just decide. I can teach or write, but I really kind of want to be a detective. Maybe come back and join the force here and work my way up to Sheriff.”

He shrugs under the close scrutiny of Derek’s eyes. That shirt should be framed and mounted somewhere because it is doing everything for Derek or rather for Stiles. Derek has the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. They're pale, and Stiles still can't tell if they are a mixture of sea foam green and sky blue or the other way around, but there's a stunning gold that rings around his iris that leaves Stiles a little breathless.

“Is your dad happy that you’re planning to follow in his line of work?”

Distracted, the question throws him off. Stiles can feel his head tilting to the side, and he can’t for the life of him stop it. It seems like he loses all kinds of motor functions when Derek’s around. He wasn't joking with Erica. _Total system meltdown_.

“How do you know that my dad is the Sheriff?”

Derek gives him a raised eyebrow.

“The fact that you both have the same very unusual last name?”

Stiles snorts and tugs the collar of his tee higher up on his neck. He can feel his skin starting to bake in the sun.

“I’ll have you know that it is a very popular last name in Poland.”

Derek’s huff of a laugh falls short as he stares back down at the dirt around the tree that he had just started planting deep purple flowers in. They remind Stiles of fireworks exploding.

“I met him. He was one of the deputies that responded… He talked about you a little to keep us calm. You had the flu.”

And suddenly Stiles knows exactly who Lydia’s pool boy is. _Derek Hale_. Derek freaking Hale. He thinks about smacking himself upside the head with his book because how did he not guess that. He remembers the Hale fire because he could still smell the smoke on his dad’s clothes even through his stuffy nose. He remembers because the loss of such a cared for family at faulty electrical wiring was all anyone would talk about for days after. He remembers because his mom wanted to go to the funerals, but she was too sick to leave her bed, and Stiles wasn’t allowed to go be sick with her in the hospital. It could have been bad for her. He didn’t know what that meant then. He’s painfully aware now. He takes a breath and forces himself to smile at Derek.

“Derek, I am so sorry that you met him during the Goatee phase.”

The shocked look on Derek’s face makes Stiles want to hug him. Because he hates the sympathy too. He hates the _I’m sorry’s_ because nobody really knows your loss, not really. Derek swallows and nods.

“Yeah, he reminded me a little of that Coop guy from Melrose Place.”

“That’s what I said! Nobody agreed with- wait, Derek. Do you watch Soap Operas?!”

The utter blank look on his face makes Stiles grin even wider. Derek has the shittiest poker face.

“I bet you were an _All My Children_ fan! Susan Lucci was boss.”

Derek actually drags a hand down his face.

“Laura used to watch them all the time.”

The shit eating grin is still on his face, but he nods.

“Suuuuure, Laura.”

Derek gives him a look like he is regretting asking Stiles anything, but the corner of his mouth is twitching just the slightest bit as he turns away.

“Read your book, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs, but he picks his book back up sneaking another look at Derek as he works. He spares a thought to why he’s working as a pool boy of all things. He knows the insurance settlement would have easily taking care of him (and his sister Laura and Uncle Peter, the only family to survive) for the rest of their lives. But then again, Stiles still works part time at Barnes and Noble even though he has a full ride and two scholarships. Still, Derek is the strangest pool boy ever. But hey, if Lydia lets him do whatever he wants to her new backyard then Stiles isn't going to question it. Not when he gets a really, really great view.

* * *

The next Wednesday is spent in relative silence. Derek is busy making some kind of flower bed thing with rocks, and Stiles has a paper due at midnight. He has the beginnings of something resembling a final draft in his lap, editing it, when all of a sudden there’s a bottle of sunblock bouncing on the end of his deck chair. He looks up to see Derek’s already retreating back.

“You’re going to burn.”

It’s the sport kind. The one you spray on and go. The kind that’s sweat and waterproof and SPF 75. Stiles tries really hard not to smile stupidly at the canister, but it’s kind of impossible. He quickly sprays some on. Stiles still has a smile on his face that night when he emails his paper to his professor a full minute and a half before midnight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually taken all of these english classes and a crapton more. I'm still surprised I was into Victorian literature so much. What can I say? I like strong female characters and drama.


	3. Come Down Off This Cloud

They keep spending Wednesday mornings together. Each day, Derek stays a little bit later. Mornings become late afternoons pretty quickly, and Stiles can’t help but to feel giddy whenever he opens those patio doors and sees Derek there. Most days, Derek’s fiddling with something in the now lush a green and garden like backyard instead of cleaning the pool. Stiles still thinks that’s weird, but if it keeps Derek there with him then he doesn’t care. Lydia’s made no mention of the pool boy messing stuff up with the remodel or renovation, and Derek really does seem to know what he’s doing. Stiles isn’t really worried. Sometimes Derek explains what he’s doing to Stiles when isn't reading or needs a break. Derek knows a lot about plants and architecture. Stiles once fell asleep to the sound of Derek's voice once while he explained the brilliance of Frank Lloyd Wright and the art deco movement. Derek forgave him for it because it was during his rant that modern architecture just doesn't blend nature and structure enough anymore. It was so worth the sunburn Stiles got because of it.

It’s the evening after their ninth Wednesday, and Derek had spent the morning and most of the afternoon debating the merits of natural eco pools with him. Derek, unsurprisingly, had a lot to offer on the subject. After Derek left and Stiles made sure Prada was okay, Stiles still felt too keyed up to go home. So he went visit Scott.

He’s finds himself perched on top of the exam table holding a squirming mess of fur that Scott said is a cocker spaniel puppy. It’s hard to tell because there’s a whole lot of ear going on. But it’s cute and wriggling, and Stiles kind of feels bad that Scott had to stick a giant needle in it. Vaccinations are important, but little fluff balls shouldn’t whine like that.

“I know I keep talking about how gorgeous he is, Scott. And I mean, he is. He is all kinds of beautiful. Just his eyes, _ugh_. And I know that it’s so wrong to objectify a person based on their physical appearance. Lydia beat it into me in high school. I took classes on it and did a case study and everything. I know, okay. He's just kind of ridiculously beautiful, and so much more than that. He’s so, so smart. And he knows just like so much stuff, and he can keep up with me when I go off on a tangent. He listens, and he doesn’t care that I ramble and over share and never let him get a word in edgewise. He’s funny, hilarious actually. And he has this amazing laugh, and his smiles are so, so great even his bunny teeth are adorable. _Adorable,_ Scott.”

Stiles lifts the puppy to eye level to talk to it since Scott is busy with paperwork. He’s actually doing internship hours during the summer too. Deaton arranged it with Berkeley, so he wouldn’t lose his assistant entirely. Also, because Deaton wants to groom Scott to take over his practice after he graduates. The puppy nips Stiles on the nose while his brain wanders. It reminds him of what he was actually saying. He lets the rowdy mess of fur sniff around the table keeping an eye on it when it gets close to the edges.

“Leave it to me to start crushing on the pool boy I’ve only known for a couple weeks.”

Scott chuckles lifting his head up to smile at his best friend.

“You never do anything the normal way.”

Stiles points a finger at him.

“Do I have to remind you of how you met Allison?”

Scott’s grin turns dopey and smitten, and wow, it’s gotten worse since high school. How is that even possible?

“I gave her a pen.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but the first time you talked to her, actually held a conversation, you were saving the dog she accidentally hit.”

The sigh Scott lets out should be made of sparkles and glitter and little bubble hearts.

“Yeah.”

It’s sickening. It’s sickening and cute, and he really can’t begrudge them for it. It works for them.

“But I mean, can’t I ever just bump into someone in lecture and ask them out for coffee? And then coffee leads to an awkward but enjoyable first date, then a second, and third. Etcetera, etcetera.”

Scott huffs, and Stiles knows that huff. That is the huff of judgment. Stiles does not like that huff.

“You do remember that you tried to do that, right? Except you asked out the wrong twin. And Aiden only agreed because he wanted you to put in a good word with Lydia because he wanted to date her. And then you accidentally set up Ethan with Danny instead of actually going out with him yourself.”

The bitch face Stiles gives him would make lesser mortals turn tail and flee. But the bastard has had years to build up a resistance.

“You ended up cockblocking yourself.”

Stiles groans and lets the puppy gnaw on his shirt. Scott laughs.

“I was kind of glad it didn’t work out though. It was getting confusing at the end.”

That was an understatement. Danny ended up making out with Aiden twice on accident which led to the inevitable break up with Ethan who Lydia had three coffee dates with. It was for the best really. I was a time of confused boners for everyone involved, except Lydia who knew which twin was which the entire time and used the data she gathered for a psychology paper.

“This wasn’t how this summer was supposed to go, Scott. I had a game plan.”

There’s a soft hum; a confirmation that Scott is paying attention.

“Take some classes, keep conditioned for track, get a tan, hang out with everyone, use Lydia's kickass pool. That was the game plan. Not pine after Lydia’s smoking hot pool boy. He just gets me on so many levels, man. Did I mention he reads too? Like we got into a discussion about Thoreau, and I swear to God, it took me everything I had not to just hug him when he said “ _why use 80 words to say something when 8 will do_?”

Stiles sighs at the memory and pets at the puppy absently. Derek just looks like he’d give good hugs. What with the chest and the muscles and the arms. But it’s really his hands, strong and weathered, and how Stiles can’t help but think they’d make you feel safe wrapped around you.

“ _Stiles_.”

He meets Scott’s big brown eyes. And yeah, he knows that hopeful, concerned, attentive look. _Crap_. Stiles drops his head into his hands and groans. He just had a mini fantasy about _hugging_ the guy.

“Scott, I’m in love with him aren’t I?”

Scott walks over and squeezes his shoulder gently.

“Looks like it, buddy.”

Stiles groans. Why can’t he just have a shameless little crush? Why can’t he just fall into _like_ with someone. He’s wired wrong. That’s the only explanation. To add insult to injury, the puppy lifts his leg and empties his bladder on Stiles thigh.

Scott has the decency not to laugh, loudly at least.

* * *

The tenth Wednesday Stiles goes over to the Martin’s and finds Lydia behind the bar. The pages of better _Homes and Gardens_ , _HGTV_ , and _Country Living_ are spread out in front of her. He makes his way over and wraps his arms around her from behind.

Stiles once thought he knew everything about Lydia when he had that self proclaimed crush on her. Turns out he didn’t know squat. Sure, he knew more about her than almost everyone else, save for Jackson. But he didn’t know the things that mattered. After their epic fall out and equally epic friendship, he’s learned to read her just as well as he can read Scott. Their friendships are even pretty similar.

Stiles is ferociously loyal and protective of them both, but with Lydia, he’s learned that she needs to handle things herself. Stiles would only intervene when asked because she trusts him enough to ask (she trusts him enough to be there for her when she needs him). It's completely unlike his relationship with Scott, who doesn’t know he needs help until Stiles is already there leading him through. The stiff way she’s turning the pages, just shy of ripping them, gave her away the second Stiles entered the room.

The way she leans back into him tells him a whole lot more.

“Jackson being a Jackass?”

She sighs but lets him rock her a little.

“Danny’s family wants them to stay another couple of weeks in Hawaii. But I want him here. For the party.”

He rests his chin on her shoulder and taps at some chef for the Food Network’s Hampton garden spread. It’s pretty with its neat hedges and tidy garden of herbs and flowers (but not as pretty as her backyard with Derek’s little touches). It’s a distraction for both of them. Lydia’s gotten better at saying the things she needs, the things she wants. But it’s so ingrained in her from high school to hide what she really wants.

Stiles knows though. It’s not that she wants Jackson to be there for the party. She just wants him to be there for her. To support her and to show her mother that she is okay with her dating again. Lydia loves Jackson, she does, but she’s still afraid that he’ll leave her again if she asks for too much or if she pushes too far. A part of Stiles hates Jackson for making Lydia scared like that. But another part of him understands that Jackson is just as terrified of her letting him go and leaving him behind.

He sighs and lets her go to lean against the counter next to her. He shifts his weight and slouches so their shoulders can be pressed warmly together.

“You know if you ask him to be here for you, he’ll be on the first available flight out.”

Lydia gives him a look that says _I know that_. Stiles gives her one back that he hopes reads _if you knew that ,then you wouldn’t be here in the first place_ and not _I think I forgot to put deodorant on this morning_. He works with what he has which are not eyebrows that can move independently of each other. (He just really wants to be able to do the eyebrow thing half as good as Derek or Lydia. Class debates would be so much more fun.)

After a second, she smiles and leans into him before moving away and making a shooing motion toward the French doors. It’s accompanied with a leer and a sinful grin. He grumbles under his breath about Erica’s big mouth and Isaac’s inability to deny Lydia's craving for cupcakes and gossip. But he has a grin on his face the entire time as she laughs him out of the room.

He’s still smiling as he turns to make sure the door is shut. Prada’s already out prancing around in the new grass and looking serenely at her new domain. He really wishes Lydia would let him buy her a tiny, little crown. He finds Derek filling a half dozen fire glazed pots with soil and flowers he can recognize by smell alone. He crouches down next to him.

“Hey.”

Derek looks a little stiff, and he doesn’t look up. It doesn’t worry Stiles. Sometimes, it takes a while for Derek to warm up. Sometimes, he just has bad days. A few weeks ago Derek merely grunted his hello. Didn’t speak for hours, but Stiles regaled him with tales of he and Scott’s epic adventures. He told him about the time they almost stole a prison transport vehicle, the time they saved Deaton from being mugged, how Isaac got stuck in an empty grave their senior year during a really insane scavenger hunt. By the end of the day, Derek was smiling and Stiles’ chest was light. 

Instead of pushing, he lets his fingers brush against the white petals of the flower.

“Gardenias, my mom grew them in her garden.”

He peels off a few of the dried leaves, crunches them up, and sprinkles it in the rich earth in the temporary pot the plants' are housed in. He keeps talking as he helps Derek ease it out of the little plastic holder, so he can transplant it into the dark turquoise urn.

“The garden’s not there anymore, but the gardenias still grow every year. I, we, like the reminder. My dad and I. Gone but never forgotten, you know?”

He helps Derek fill three of the big, decorative urns up before Derek talks.

“My mom loved peonies.”

Stiles smiles at him and enjoys the feel of dirt under his fingers again. The memories don’t hurt as much with Derek there next to him.

“Peonies?”

He nods and nudges Stiles’s hands out of the way to spread the fertilizer around evenly. Stiles laughs softly at his correction to distract himself from the feel of warm, rough fingers on his skin.

“I don’t even know what peonies look like.”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunch together, and his nose wrinkles just the littlest bit. If Stiles was standing, he would have fell over from the sheer fondness he felt for Derek in that second. He keeps it together by handing him another gardenia bush.

“I’ll show you sometime.”

He can feel the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks, but he can’t stop himself from smiling and catching Derek’s eye.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes drift over Stiles’ shoulder back to the house. Stiles follows Derek's line of sight and finds Lydia on her phone. Her hands are making sharp, short motions. It doesn't look like much until she turns and the annoyance on her face is plain as day. A hand jerks across her throat in a very understandable motion. The person on the phone must understand her tone of voice because Lydia's eyebrows smooth out and her hands stop moving. Only after a second, she slams her hand down on the counter and a muffled name can be heard. Stiles flinches and turns to give Derek a sheepish grin. He wants to rubs the back of his neck, but his hand kind of hovers awkwardly in front of him because it’s covered in dirt.

"That would be Jackson trying to weasel his way out of coming to the party."  
  
Derek nods. He has a smirk tugging on his lips.  
  
“He's got some balls. Even I don't like going against Lydia.”

Derek makes a motion to the yard in general.  
  
"Jackson? Psht. If Jackson wasn't on a different continent, he'd never try to pull this shit."

Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles really wishes he can do that, speak so much with a single little movement.  
  
“You don't argue with Lydia Martin unless you have a very good, very detailed, and very supported reason. You sure as hell don't do it over the phone using the entirety of the Pacific Ocean as a shield. Hiding is not good but running is even worse. Because then she has to hunt you down. And trust me, she will find you, and it will not be pleasant.”

He shudders at a memory.

“I've never been banned from a church before I met Lydia.”

He makes a waving motion with his hand as Derek's eyebrows shoot up. Stiles remembers his dad’s oddly proud look when he picked them both up. And then he remembers another similar incident when he had the disappointed _I am the Sheriff and also your father_ face on when he bailed his just turned 21-year-old son of out jail for the first and last time.

“The Home Depot is an entirely different story but come on, who leaves electric floor buffers unattended? Still, best birthday ever."  
  
Derek blinks at him for a minute before shaking his head and smiling. It hits Stiles hard in his gut and squeezes his lungs tight. Jesus, that’s never going to stop being amazing, being the reason for that smile.  
  
"I know the feeling. Laura, you don't run from Laura."  
  
Stiles grins and nods because from what Derek’s told him, Laura is just like Lydia. She just has four more inches of height and access to heavy machinery. He’s about to make a crack about never letting them meet when the French doors open.  
  
"Stiles?"

Stiles turns to her with a grin.  
  
"Yes, my beautiful warrior goddess?"

Her lips curl up just a little.  
  
“Get cleaned up. I need retail therapy.”

Stiles salutes her as she goes back into the house.

“Yes ma’am.”

He turns to Derek more than a little surprised about him watching their interaction so intently.  
  
“Duty calls.”

He stands, careful not to touch his dirty hands ot his jeans, and turns back to Derek bas he gets a foot in the door. 

“If I don’t make it out alive, you can have all of my books.”

The smile that steals across Derek’s face makes Stiles trip on the door jam. He has to use the curtain to keep himself upright. He’ll make sure to tell Susan that she made a good choice going with the triple stitched drapes when she gets back from her vacation. If Derek notices Stiles fumble, he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps smiling.  
  
“See you later, Stiles.”

He can’t help but to grin right back.  
  
“See you later, Derek.”

Yeah, he is completely head over ass in love with the guy.

And he really has no idea what to do about it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the epicness that can be Stiles' friendships. I hope Jeff Davis gives us Lydia and Stiles, but I'll always settle for Stiles' and Scott's BFF status.


	4. If My Red Eyes Don't See You Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Minor/Secondary Character Death  
> TW: Past Mentions of Childhood Abuse  
> TW: Alcoholism

“I mean he keeps calling it a mini-midterm, but it is actually a torture device from hell disguised as a six page in-class paper.”

Stiles collapses into the deck chair and stares up at the sky waving his hands above him for dramatic flair. It gets a laugh out of Derek.

“My outline can’t even have the quotes I want to use to backup my arguments. I’m going to die. I’m going to fail and die.”

Prada gnaws on his fingers to remind him that he should be rubbing her tummy. He groans.

“And Prada’s gonna be lonely because I won’t be able to come here at all Wednesday. Because I’m secretly a masochist, I scheduled a dentist appointment right after. What the hell was I thinking?”

“I’ll look after her.”

Stiles sits up so fast his sunglasses almost fly off his face.

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

Derek rolls his eyes but bends down to scratch Prada behind her ears. She’s long lost interest in Stiles and his despairing. He thought dogs were supposed to make you feel better. Stiles mutters under his breath about her taking after her mother. Derek grins at him because of course he heard it. He _always_ listens to Stiles. He can’t help but to smile back at him.

“We’ll be fine for a few hours on our own, huh girl?”

The sight of Prada settling against his thigh for a nap under the shade of the trees Derek’s started to work around tugs at his heart. He is so gone for the guy. And he really needs to man up and do something about it. But he’s wary. Derek’s never talked much about relationships; just that he’s had a bad one in high school and that he saw a guy when he lived in New York, but it never went anywhere. Because he didn’t want it to go anywhere. And Stiles? He wants a relationship not a summer fling with one of his best friend’s pool boy. He wants it to go somewhere. But he’s going back to Berkeley at the end of the summer. Derek is staying here. Derek is staying here, and Stiles still has no idea how he even feels about him beyond the fact that he seems to enjoy spending time with him.

If Derek finds his sudden quiet odd, he doesn’t comment on it. He lets it fall over them and leaves Stiles to his thoughts. Stiles probably falls a little bit more in love. For as much Stiles loves to talk, he doesn’t like being forced to talk (especially about his feelings), and Derek’s learned that faster than anyone he’s ever known (his high school guidance counselor, who got paid to figure that shit out, included).

* * *

The next week he wakes up, treks to campus with anxious butterflies in his stomach, and churns out a pretty kickass paper (after he decided to say fuck it, tossed his outline, and wrote a whole new paper on the spot). He put up with the demon wearing a dental hygienists’ face. It’s hard to tell her that making his gums bleed will not get him to floss more with fingers in his mouth, but he tries. The second he gets home he collapses on his bed and falls asleep. When he wakes up, it’s 6 in the morning, and he’s restless. He can’t tell if it's leftover nerves about the paper and wanting to know his grade or if it’s from knowing he won’t see Derek until next week. He decides to go for a long run around the preserve. Running settles him better than the Adderall ever did.

Except for today. It leaves him even more jittery and restless. As he’s driving back home, he turns onto Lydia’s street to avoid the insurance checkpoint up ahead. He’s hot and sweaty and not interested in having the new deputy Matt ogling him or asking him creepy questions about Allison or Danny. He still thinks he cheated the psyche evaluation (his dad assured him he didn’t). He’s about to pass up her driveway whenever his thinks screw it. He pulls in and kills the engine.

He figures he can get a few laps in the pool before anyone bothers him. He knows that today she’s out with Prada at Allison’s. They’re picking out new furniture for the pool house or something. And when he gets there he knows why. The only thing left in the pool house is the wet bar, the guest bed, and the dresser. He’s sure the bathroom is just as bare. When Lydia remodels, she redecorates. Stiles knows for a fact that her bedroom has never been the same shade or theme for longer than a semester.

He shucks his shoes and peels out of his socks by the door. He ditches his running shorts and tank on the marble bar and goes looking for the spare pair of boardshorts he keeps here. The only problem with that is he doesn’t have any spare swim trunks here because he left them at home. He didn’t want them getting trashed during the renovation. In fact, no one in their group had left any bathing suits here except Jackson. Stiles groans to himself as he pulls open the right drawer. The trunks he has in his hand aren’t swim trunks. They’re glorified boxer briefs. Really, leave to Jackson to flaunt around in swim friendly, faux underwear. But then again… they actually have more fabric than Jackson’s swimming uniforms. Ugh, Speedos and Jackson.

On the other hand, Speedos and Derek. Oh, yeaaaaah- _NO_. Not thinking about it. That way lies madness and dragons and things that are counterproductive to swimming. Swimming which he will be doing shortly. In the pool. Where no one will be wearing Speedos even if they would look deliciously hot in them. Stiles pulls the trunks on and tugs a little where they cling tightly to the tops of his thighs. Hitting the gym for those extra training sessions for track seem to be actually paying off. He’s added a bit more muscle to his lithe frame.

He grabs a towel out of the bathroom, which is as scavenged as he expected, and grabs his phone. He leaves them both close enough to the edge to reach and turns on the outdoor sound system to a random satellite radio channel. He slips into the pool and easily slips into steady strokes and even breaths. It’s easy to get lost in the push and pull and the drag of the water. His thoughts settle somewhere around lap 15. He gets distracted somewhere around lap 40 when something clatters to the ground on his right.

Stiles stroke falters as he leans upright to tread water and is surprised to find Derek hastily picking up whatever fell. Stiles smiles at him when he peeks his head up to look at him. He must have gotten sun burnt because his cheeks are rosy. He looks down at what he’s picked up, and Stiles uses his distraction to plant his hands on the edge of the pool and lifts himself out. He grabs at his towel to wipe the water out of his eyes and off his face. Derek is staring at him, blinking. Stiles resists the urge to tug at his swim shorts.

“Hey man, didn’t know you came by on Thursdays too.”

Derek rocks whatever he’s holding back and forth. It’s a small can that is actually a sample of paint. Now it’s a small can of sample paint that has a huge dent in it.

“Lydia wanted to see another color for the pool house. I thought I’d drop this off.”

Stiles laughs, brushes his wet hair back from his forehead. Derek’s eyes track the movement. It’s a weird thing for Derek to be doing, bringing Lydia paint samples, but Derek never seems to just stick to his job anyway.

“Well, mission accomplished.”

Derek scuffs the toe of his work boot on the pool pavers and looks down at the paint can in his hands. He toys with it a little, deft fingers digging into the groove of the dent. And that isn’t sunburn. That is a blush on his cheeks. Did Stiles make Derek blush? Inner Stiles is busy doing a celebratory fist bump. Outer Stiles is trying and failing to hide a smirk. Stiles finishes toweling himself off trying to fight the urge to just wrap his towel around his waist again. Not because he’s ashamed of his body. He’s actually quite proud of it now.

He used to be just lean from lacrosse in high school. But running track sculpted him, gave him definition, and enough of a six pack to not feel bad about going around without a shirt. Hell, Derek has seen him shirtless before. Stiles is not ashamed of his body, but he might be ashamed of how it reacts to Derek. Because Derek is looking at him like, like he’s thirsty and wants to lick the water off Sites’ skin. Derek is looking at Stiles like he wants to _devour_ him. Stiles shivers under the weight of that stare.

Derek startles and takes a step toward the pool house.

“You’ve uh, got good form.”

He uses the towel to roughly dry his hair again to hide his blush.

“Uh, thanks. Jackson swims for college now. He said that I was an embarrassment to him, so he gave me a couple of lessons.”

Derek nods, and Stiles hooks his towel over his neck. The radio croons at them.

_“'Cause I don't wanna lose you now. I'm lookin' right at the other half of me. The vacancy that sat in my heart is a space and now your home. Show me how to fight for now and I'll tell you, baby, it was easy, comin' back here to you once I figured it out you were right here all along.”_

Stiles opens his mouth to crack a joke about Justin Timberlake always playing during their surprise encounters when Derek starts talking first.

“I’m just gonna go drop this off, and I’ll be out of your way.”

Stiles snorts.

“Dude, you are never in the way.”

The words leave his lips before he can stop them. Derek’s just staring at him, a little thrown, and Stiles brains absently registers that Derek didn’t correct him about calling him dude. Stiles flounders to cover up his mistake.

“Just no rush, man. Lydia has some beer in the fridge if you want to hang out for a while.”

Derek scratches at his neck and looks toward the house then back to Stiles.

“No, I just came by to drop this off. I have plans with Laura. So I should go.”

Stiles breathes past the tumultuous rolling of his stomach. He manages to give Derek a smile.

“Hey, no problem. Tell Laura I said hi.”

Derek nods and walks briskly to the pool house to drop the abused sample onto the marble wet bar. He gives Stiles a little wave as he disappears from sight down the little walkway that leads to the back gate and the alley behind the house. Stiles stands there like an idiot for a few minutes before he decides to help himself to the beers in Lydia’s fridge. By his fourth, he has decided that he’s going to ask Derek out next Wednesday, everything else be damned. 

He’s still planning on asking Derek out except when Wednesday _finally_ rolls around it's two in the morning, and his dad is shaking his shoulder gently. Stiles doesn’t really have to listen to much before he’s pulling on clean clothes and testing Scott on his way to Isaac’s apartment. He texts Lydia at a stop light, and he wishes that he had Derek’s number to text him saying he won’t be there, and that something came up. His screen lights up nearly instantly. He answers Lydia’s call before the phone even makes a sound.

“What happened?”

He sighs into the line.

“The hospital contacted my dad. Abraham Lahey died this morning. Car accident. Drunk driving.”

Lydia curses into the line. Stiles agrees with her. He hears rustling and the sound of her getting out of bed.

“I’ll handle the arrangements. I’ll text you if I need clarifications. I’ll be there tonight.”

He would be speeding, but his dad is following him in the cruiser, and while he’s sure his dad won’t give him a ticket, he doesn’t feel like testing him right now. Isaac is family at this point.

“Lydia, you have work tomorrow. Just come after.”

She hisses at him.

“Stiles Stilinski, if you think I’d be anywhere but with Isaac right now-“

He cuts her off before she goes into a full blown rant. When she’s angry, she can rival even him.

“I know, Lydia! I’m sorry. Just, just drive safe okay?”

She sighs and apologizes softly.

“Just keep me updated.”

“Yeah, same here.”

They hang up at the same time. When he finally slips out of his jeep, he’s wide awake and already preparing himself for the next few hours. His dad breaks the news to Isaac. Isaac holds it together pretty well, but he breaks down eventually. The Sheriff only leaves when he gets a call over his walkie, the corner has cleared him to pick up Mr. Lahey's body, and Isaac refused to let him miss work. The second his dad leaves, Stiles watches as Isaac breaks down. He's a mess before Scott gets there, but he is better by the time Lydia wraps her arms around him. Erica had just walked in and wrapped herself around his other side, and Boyd had been in the kitchen making food that everyone only picks at.

Lydia walks him through the funeral arrangements after he settles a bit. He smiles a little whenever she’s already made the same decisions he would have made. The ceremony (because his father wanted to be cremated because he couldn’t stand the thought of somebody putting him into the ground not after years of being a gravedigger himself) will be Friday. Isaac has to get Danny and Jackson to promise that they will stay in Hawaii. Jackson isn’t happy about it, but all it takes is a quiet word from Isaac to shut him up and agree.

“He’s taken a lot of good memories from me. I don’t want him to take them away from you too. Stay there, okay? For me.”

Isaac had explained it once to Stiles. That he loved his dad. That for all the bad memories he still had a ton of amazing ones with him. But Stiles can’t shake the hatred he feels for Isaac’s dad. That hatred returns tenfold when his dad explains to him quietly that night over dinner that Mr. Lahey was four towns away and never once made an attempt to talk or see Isaac since the Stilinski’s took him in. White hot fury rises in Stiles, but he battles it down and locks it away. He’ll deal with it later because Isaac needs him right now.

* * *

Stiles is surprised to hear someone call his name softly. He jerks his head up to see Derek walking slowly towards him from the back gate. He wipes at his face, surprised that it's not dry, and waves with the half finished bottle of whiskey.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

He really wants to laugh because there is so much honest concern in Derek’s voice that it kind of hurts. Stiles looks around the half completed yard and shakes his head. It’s almost dark. The automatic night lights are the only thing from keeping it from turning pitch black. He hadn’t realized he’d sat out here for so long. The ceremony was at three this afternoon. He’s been out here in Lydia’s backyard pretty much since then. He turns to look up at Derek and tries to ignore the feeling wrapping itself around his rib cage because of the look in those impossible hazel eyes.

“Not really, no.”

Derek sinking down into the lounge chair next to him isn’t as surprising as he used to think it would be. Derek doesn’t show it well, but when he cares about somebody, he cares about them. Does whatever he can for them. He’s a great friend. Stiles is a shitty one. He takes another long drag from the bottle. He feels the burn all the way down. Derek’s eyes are on him, quiet and intense, and Stiles fights a shiver from being under that penetrating scrutiny.

“I am a shitty friend.”

He tilts the bottle in Derek’s direction. Laughs quietly as he takes it and drinks. Derek passes the bottle back and waits. He’s good at that. Waiting. And listening. Derek gestures towards the suit Stiles is wearing, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Isaac’s dad died.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, and Stiles is so fucking grateful for that. Because Derek has almost lost his entire family. He knows how meaningless, how empty those sympathetic words are spoken by people that cannot truly comprehend the pain of your loss no matter how good and pure their intentions. Besides, Abraham Lahey doesn’t deserve those words.

“He was a fucking bastard. He used to beat Isaac. After Isaac's mom left them and his brother died in the war, he took his anger out on Isaac. The fucker used to lock him in a freezer in the basement to punish him.”

Stiles drinks. Derek drinks.

“I remember the story. Your dad got him out.”

Stiles nods.

“Yeah, we got him out our Junior year of high school. But that piece of shit had been doing that to Isaac for years. We were on the lacrosse team together. Me and Scott and Danny, we all saw the bruises. And fucking Jackson lived across from him. He heard the fights and never said anything.”

Stiles tugs the tie off completely and tosses it to the ground.

“I was really pissed at him for a long time for that. I hated Jackson for it. But Jackson knew that there was nothing he could do. If he reported it and Isaac denied it, there was nothing anyone could do. Jackson was afraid that he would make it even worse for Isaac. God, it was so fucked up.”

The bottle gets passed between them again. Derek’s voice is soft.

“He used to be our swim coach. He yelled at one of the girls so much that she quit the team. We refused to compete under him. We got him fired on grounds of aggression and emotional abuse.”

Stiles laughs. It's dark and bitter.

“Good on you. At least you could do something. To him. We could only help Isaac. My dad took him in and gave him a place to stay, and the fucker knew better than to start shit with the Sheriff. He couldn’t do anything after Isaac turned 18, so he left town. Good fucking riddance. But that asshole never really left. Not for Isaac. He haunted him. He still does.”

Stiles sinks his fingers into his hair and grabs at it.

“That bastard is dead, and he’s still hurting Isaac. And what do I do? I fucking bail on Isaac in the middle of his dad’s funeral. Because I am too fucking angry to stand being in the same room. Because I am too god damned happy that he's dead.”

Watching his fingers grip the bottle is easier than looking at Derek. It’s easier than seeing the disgusted look on his face.

“I’m a bad person for saying that. Fuck, my mom would hate me for saying that.”

He tightens his grip on the bottle watching the blood draining out of his fingertips, his knuckles.

“You probably hate me for saying that.”

Warm hands are on his prying away the bottle. The sound of glass settling on cement is loud in the calm darkness. Those warm hands are on his jaw. Derek gently lifts his head and makes Stiles meet his eyes. They are still so bright in the settling dark.

“I’ve known bad people, Stiles. And you? Are not one of them. You're no where close. You’re a good person that cares about his family, his friends.”

He waits a heartbeat, let it sinks in, and keeps talking in that gentle low voice, so sure and soft.  Stiles kind of wants to curl up in it, around it, and sleep all safe and warm.

“Your mom could never hate you. She’d probably love you more knowing how much you care about Isaac.”

Stiles knows he’s crying again because Derek’s face get’s blurry and there is something brushing away the wetness on the edge of his jaw.

“And I don’t hate you for saying that. I-I don’t think I can ever hate you, Stiles. You’re kind of the best person I know.”

Stiles really, really wants to kiss him. To chase that voice, to taste the mouth it comes from. Instead, he drops his head on Derek’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him. Derek doesn’t hesitate to pull him in. His hands are warm against Stiles' back through his clothes. He lets Stiles cling to him, lets him cry, and doesn’t say a word. Soon, Stiles sags into him feeling tired and wrung out and blurry around the edges from the whiskey. Derek’s voice is still soft when he speaks.

“Why did you come here?”

Stiles shrugs as much as he can while being hugged. He leans his head to rest against the side of Derek’s neck and enjoys the way Derek’s hand spread across his back as he drags them up and down, soothing and strong.

“It’s, I feel calm here. It reminds me of how my mom made me feel you know? Safe.”

He sighs into the touch.

“It’s a good place, Derek.”

He can’t tell if he means the backyard-garden or being in Derek’s arms. He leans back to stare at him, to see his face, because Derek has to understand. Derek has to know.

“You make it a good place.”

His very astonished face makes Stiles want to kiss Derek again. He thinks he might have said it aloud because Derek tenses suddenly. Stiles is confused until he hears a soft, familiar voice.

“Oh, Stiles.”

He shifts back enough to see her face concerned and furious and heartbroken all at once. Stiles lifts the arm not curled around Derek and she steps closer and draws her in gently. He rests his head against her stomach and breaths out a sob. He just can’t give a shit now.

“Isaac, is he?”

She runs her fingers through his hair scratching just lightly enough to soothe him.

“Pissed, hurt, confused? Yes. But he’ll understand. He’ll forgive you.”

Stiles is crying again into her beautiful black dress. He wants to say he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve it. But Derek’s hand is warm and firm on the back of his neck. It feels kind of like forgiveness. It feels like benediction.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you inside.”

Stiles nods and stands with Derek’s help. He feels like his whole body is weighted down. He leans heavily into Lydia because he can’t seem to figure out how to get his balance. Derek’s hand is hot where it rests on the small of his back, his arm.

“I can take him in.”

Lydia adjusts her grip, and Stiles lets her pull his arm over her petite shoulders. Those Bok Fu and Wen-Do classes she’s taking with Allison are totally paying off.

“Strong and pretty.”

Lydia smiles at him, small and fond. Stiles smiles back. Because he likes Lydia this way. He likes being in love with Lydia like this, as friends. Because he gets to see her like this. He gets to see all the hidden sides of her. Just like Derek. He gets to see past his masks. He gets to see those small private smiles, gets to hear that bone dry humor and utterly perfect delivery, the anger and the loss and the love he has for the people he cares about. Stiles uses the hand still clenched in Derek's shirt to pull him closer so Stiles can rest his head in the crook of his neck again.

“So strong and pretty.”

Derek huffs softly before removing Stiles’ hand gently and stepping away. Stiles wants to stop him. To keep him there. Two of the people he cares most about safe, wrapped around him, warm and comfortable, but Lydia beats him to it.

“It’s late. The pool house is yours if you want it.”

He really wishes he can see Derek’s face, but he’s too tired to move his head from where it’s slumped against Lydia’s shoulder. He can feel her fingers massaging the back of his neck, and he sighs kissing at her hair.

“Thank you, but I’ve got to get home.”

Lydia nods, Stiles can feel it. It’s weird. He tightens his arms around her to stop all the shaking.

“Thank you, for looking after him.”

Derek must nod because there’s footsteps, and Lydia is carefully guiding him inside to the guest room on the ground floor.

* * *

He wakes up in the morning with a splitting headache, and Scott glaring down at him. The only reason Stiles doesn’t kick him out is because a) not his house and b) he brought coffee. Scott also has the decency to not bitch his best friend out until after he finishes the coffee and takes the aspirin Lydia left him. He lets Scott pull him into a hug anyway. Isaac comes in just as he’s pulling away from Scott. He doesn’t look pissed. He doesn’t look much of anything. Stiles rubs at his neck before lifting an arm. Isaac slams into him he moves to hug him so fast. It’s a tight hug like he’s afraid Stiles will leave him again. Stiles hugs him back even tighter with watering eyes because he made him Isaac that way again after he’s already lost so many people in his life.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Isaac.”

The curly hair boy gives him a smile as he pulls away.

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not. But Isaac is telling him that they are okay. It’s enough for Stiles to lose some of the guilt sitting heavy in his chest. Lydia raises an eyebrow at them all from the kitchen where she’s setting out food but says nothing about their teary eyes. She does however slide Stiles the pickup slip for her dry cleaner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was supposed to be some happy go lucky fluff. I swear. But you cannot have nice things in the Teen Wolf fandom. (It doesn’t help that I wrote this after I watched the season 3 trailer. And I’m still not over “Tattoo” yet.)


	5. I See You Looking Back At Me

“No, Stiles. The cayenne drapes not the cinnamon.”

Stiles frowns at the plastic wrapped package in his hands and puts it back grabbing the next color over. Lydia takes it from him and drops it in the shopping bag. Stiles knows the only reason she asked him to go décor shopping with her is so that she can abuse his height and make him get the things off the high shelves. That and Jackson (who had decent taste, but Stiles would never admit that to him even on pain of death) was still in Hawaii. He was still offering his opinions via text though. The color he wanted for the bathroom made Stiles cringe. Blood red just isn’t something that should be found scattered all over any bathroom, ever.

“The steel blue will look better in the bathroom with all the chrome.”

He receives a pleased hum from Lydia for his input. She grabs the things she wants and places them in the bag held open and waiting by Stiles. They walk over to bedding, and he ignores the sales woman who looks like she’s dying to walk over and hijack their shopping trip. Lydia doesn’t give her the time of day. Not because she is above the associates at Macy’s. But because the lady had the nerve to think Lydia didn’t know what a thread count was. Stiles had hastily promised to ask for her if they needed anything and got Lydia out of verbal assault range. So far, so good. He tunes back in to Lydia who is studying several new bedspreads seriously.

“The green. It’ll look better with the paint Derek helped you pick out.”

Lydia nods and motions for him to grab the bag of bedding while she starts picking out appropriate bed linens and pillow covers with coordinating and complimentary patterns.

“Speaking of Derek, when are you going to ask him out?”

Stiles nearly takes out a towel rack as he flails.

“I made a fool of myself in front of him, Lydia.”

She puts her choices into the bag, now dropped on the floor, and starts browsing throw pillows tossing a knowing look over her shoulder whenever she notices that Stiles isn’t following her. She sighs.

“Sweetie, you might have been too drunk to notice, but he was a second away from kissing you.”

Stiles nearly trips over the bedspread and bag at his feet trying to catch up to her.

“What? No, he wasn’t!”

Lydia gives him the bitch please face to end all bitch please faces. Sam Winchester doesn’t have shit on her.

“Oh, trust me. I know what I saw. You were not the only one in my backyard thinking about locking lips.”

Stiles grabs everything and fumbles his way over to Lydia.

“Really?”                                                                                                                                          

She sighs again before turning away from the towels on display to face him.

“I called him and told him that I couldn’t find you. His immediate reaction was to head to every place he knew you liked. The library, your house, the _Wolf’s Den_  basically any place you ever mentioned to him before he found you at my house because he was _worried_. So yes, Stiles. I’m pretty sure the guy is just as into you as you are into him.”

Stiles is too busy sputtering to say anything. Lydia takes it upon herself to speak up.

“Ask him out on a date already. I’ll even turn a blind eye to you two re-christening the pool house.”

He can feel the blush on his face. He tears the package of towels out of her hands and hisses.

“ _Lydia_!”

By the time his brain comes back online, she’s already in housewares with her heels clicking on the tile as she struts away. Stiles is seriously considering leaving her to the jaws of the overeager sales associate. But she did just give him some much needed perspective. He shoves another handful of expensive towels into the bag as emotional compensation and follows.

* * *

He spends 20 minutes parked in Lydia’s driveway trying to squash the nerves fluttering around his stomach. When he realizes that they weren’t going to be willed into submission, he gets out of the jeep and makes his way through the house. He looks around for Prada but finds a note from Lydia instead.

_Left Prada with Isaac for the day. Have fun :)_

He crumples the note and tosses it in the sink shaking his head. He’s really surprised that she didn’t- He pulls his phone at the sound of her text tone.

**_Everything you need is in the bedside table in the pool house._ **

He blushes just as another message comes in.

**_I want details Stilinski._ **

He hastily taps out a message.

**_We are no longer friends._ **

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and takes a deep breath before he steps out onto the patio. He kind of loses all train of thought because all he sees is Derek lifting his head and smiling at him. He’s not going to get over those smiles. Not anytime soon. Derek was made to smile. It lights up his whole face and turns his eyes warm. It makes Stiles’ heart pound just a little more rapidly because he is the reason for that smile. The butterflies aren’t so bad anymore.

“Hey.”

Sties smiles right back at him.

“Hey.”

Then he remembers what he came here to do. He rubs at his neck awkwardly and shuffles his feet closer to Derek.

“So, about Friday…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Derek shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. But it was something to Stiles. He wants it to be something.

“I would like to make it up to you.”

The other man’s eyes widen slightly. He goes stiff as he stands unpotted plants forgotten at his feet. Stiles panics and rambles on.

“I was thinking we could get a coffee. Together. Tomorrow? My friend owns the Wolf’s Den Café. I mean I would get coffee because I like coffee, but they make this awesome tea that I think you’d like, and-”

Derek cuts him off mid rant, and Stiles is grateful and all kind of anxious (and a little nauseated).

“Stiles, you can’t. I _can’t_.”

Stiles waits because Derek doesn’t like to talk until he has all the right words. He waits because he knows that sometimes Derek likes to take his time to think and to say something meaningful whether it’s about why purple popsicles never really takes like grape, or what’s the best way to keep an orchid alive, or why the Dodgers will always be his favorite team because his dad caught him a pop fly when he was 7 and the last time he spent with his dad before the fire was at Dodger's Stadium. Stiles waits because his heart is constricting too much in his chest to even speak.

Derek won’t meet his eyes. Stiles' heart sinks so low, so rapidly that it feels like it’s dropped out of his body completely. He vaguely remembers that’s what it felt like when his mom died. Fuck. He watches almost detachedly as Derek, still not looking at him, motions to the house.

“Lydia is one lucky girl.”

Stiles doesn’t know what she has to do with anything besides Lydia being the one that pushed him to ask Derek out. He doesn’t know what the hell Lydia has to do with _them_.

“Yeah, she is. But Derek I-”

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles shakes his head and rushes on because he is still so confused.

“I just don’t understand. We can still-”

“God damn it Stiles, it isn’t going to happen so just stop!”

Derek has never raised his voice before. To his Uncle Peter on the phone sure, but never to him. Stiles flinches hard. He flinches even harder when Derek takes a hesitant step toward him. Stiles tries to shake it off because under everything he knows Derek would never intentionally hurt him, physically at least. He clenches his hands at his sides and forces himself to pull it together.

“I-I’m sorry. I should leave. I’m going to leave.”

He gestures to the door.

“See you-”

This time it’s Stiles that cuts him off. His voice is flat and blank. Because it’ll crush him to hear Derek say those words. Because see you later means that there would be a later.

“Don’t say that.”

There won’t be a later for them anymore. Derek has made at least that clear. Stiles can’t bring himself to look at Derek, so he looks at his feet. His throat burns.

“Just, please don’t say that.”

He takes a breath and steps back and away, fights the sting in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Derek.”

The words feel heavy on his tongue like lead weight. His mother said that you shouldn’t say goodbye unless you meant it. Because sometimes you might not get the chance to say hello again. He learned that lesson the hard way with her. He feels like he’s learning it all over again with Derek. 

His heart constricts painfully under his ribs. He doesn’t know what happens after. He thinks maybe Derek called his name, but why would he? He doesn't want anything ot do with Stiles anymore. He doesn’t remember the drive to Erica’s house. He just remembers Erica opening her door with a pissed off look on her face that shifts to alarmed and concerned in a split second. She pulls him into her and lets him hold on while he falls apart.

* * *

He’s curled in on himself, the second bottle of the pricey wine that Erica adores in his hand, and Scott is sitting in his line of sight. Everything is watery and shifting, and it hurts. He must have said at least some of it aloud because Erica is there with an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, Stiles.”

He leans into her and lets her rest her cheek on his head.

“Why do I always pick the wrong people to love?”

Erica pulls him in closer and rubs his back.

“He’s a dick, Stiles.”

Scott throws in his two cents. His frown is dragging his usual happy face down into something dark and angry.

“Asshole.”

Stiles sighs.

“He’s not though. I mean he is kind of an asshole, but so am I. Just, just because he doesn’t feel that way, any way, about me doesn’t mean he’s a dick or an asshole or a douchebag. He’s a good person. I’m just…”

He taps his fingers against his forehead.

“Wired wrong.”

Erica shushes him, and Scott looks murderous.

“You are not wired wrong! You aren’t anything wrong, Stiles! He’s wrong!”

He gives his best friend a watery smile. His voice cracks when he speaks, and Scott is suddenly dominating his vision.

“He said I was the best person he knew.”

He has to work though a huge sob to keep talking.

“But he’s the best person _I_ knew. And I fucked everything up.”

He’s crying again and rationally he knows that nobody owes it to him to fall in love with him. Derek doesn’t feel the same way about him, and that’s okay. It’s fine. But it still hurts. It hurts so badly.

“Why doesn’t he love me back, Scott? Why doesn’t he love me back?”

Scott wraps him in a hug and doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

* * *

After the hangover wears off, he feels even more miserable. Miserable enough to let Boyd baby him with his grandma’s biscuits. He won’t let Erica go slash his tires because she really doesn’t need for his dad to write her another ticket for destruction of private property. But it gets the first smile out of him in days.

The week and a half leading up to Lydia’s party ticks down slowly. Isaac and Scott come over all the time and distract him with movies and gaming marathons and a random nerf gun fight that includes most of the gang and half the block. His professors are understanding and tell him not to worry about turning in the rest of his papers in a little late. One of them tells him to not turn in his final at all because as far as he’s concerned Stiles has an A in his class regardless. His dad lets him help around at the station because he knows that keeping himself occupied helps Stiles to bury the pain and give him something else to focus on.

Lydia keeps telling him gently and in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t have to come to the party. She almost vehemently mentions in no uncertain terms that Derek might be there. Stiles tunes out the rest of her conversation because it still kind of hurts, low and burning, when anyone mentions him. Because he misses Derek. He misses talking to him, listening to him, making him laugh. He misses the backyard garden that reminded him so much of his mom, and he knows down to his bones that he will never stop associating it with Derek. He misses finding Derek ther with dirt under his fingernails and a smile lighting up his entire face.

Stiles goes on lots of runs that leave him feeling empty and exhausted enough to sleep.

* * *

The day before the party, there’s a knock on his bedroom door that he isn’t expecting. He definitely isn’t expecting a livid Jackson to walk through with a very amused Danny on his heels.

“Uh, Hi.”

Danny smiles and flops down on his bed like their entrance is completely normal. Jackson paces in front of Stiles' desk. He looks tense and annoyed and so very angry. Which isn’t that unusual in Stiles presence so... Stiles peers around Jackson’s body to stare at Danny. Danny just smiles wider. He wants to ask, but Jackson is suddenly in his face; eyes sharp and steely.

“Why the fuck did I have to hear about what that _DICK_ did to you from Scott’s mom?”

Stiles blinks up at him, then at Danny, then back up to Jackson.

“Jackson, you were in Hawaii.”

Jackson levels him with a glare. Stiles might have actually shrunk back in his desk chair. 

“And I don’t give a fuck if I was in the green room at the Victoria’s Secret Runway Show, Stiles! You pick up the goddamn phone, and you call me. I deserve to know that some douchebag broke my friend’s heart. I reserve the right to track him down and kick his fucking ass!”

Stiles opens his mouth to defend Derek. The only person who broke Stiles’s heart was himself. But he stops. He lets Jackson’s words wash over him. He wishes he was more surprised that Jackson can care this much about someone besides himself. But he knows he can. He’s seen Jackson with Lydia. With his adoptive parents. With Allison and Danny and Scott and the rest of the gang.

Jackson cares just as much, if not more, about his friends and the little family they’ve carved themselves into over the years as Stiles does. He just has trouble expressing it. Not now though. Stiles stands and drags him into a hug that Jackson returns just as easily. Eventually, Jackson pulls away and discreetly wipe at his eyes while staring Stiles down and daring him to comment. Stiles just smiles and goes over to hug Danny hello.

“You know the best way at getting back at someone is to show up with somebody else.”

Stiles shakes his head, not ready to do that, and still not willing to hurt Derek. It isn’t his fault Stiles always falls for the people that he shouldn’t. Danny shakes his head right back.

“I’m going with you to Lydia’s party, Stiles. To make sure that if he does show up he stays away from you. And also to make him realize what a colossal mistake he made and rub his face in it if you change your mind.”

He waits until Stiles nods his head because even if he can handle it, it would be nice knowing that his friends are there to run interference. Jackson throws open his closet and makes a disgusted noise. So what? It’s not colored coordinated, but it’s neat. Sort of. Stiles has a system, okay?

Danny claps him on the shoulder and all put pushes him out the way. He pulls the jeans Lydia bought him almost a week ago out of the bag and rummages in another to pull out a shirt. Jackson rolls his eyes at the royal blue polo and starts to paw through the shirts hanging in Stiles' closet. It doesn’t take him long to pull out a navy blue button down smirking as he tosses both the shirt and jeans over the back of his desk chair.

“Nu-uh. I haven’t worn that since spring formal our senior year. It’ll be a miracle to even get my arms in that thing.”

Danny gives him a once over that Stiles makes squawk and cover himself.

“That’s kinda the point, Stiles.”

Stiles takes a moment to make sure that they are joking. They aren’t.

“I take back what I said. All my friends are insanely beautiful _and_ terrifying.”

Danny grins but Jackson, Jackson fucking beams.

“Thank you.”

Stiles knows better by now not to tell Jackson that it isn’t a compliment.

* * *

He goes to the party. Danny doesn’t leave his side and his friends seem to keep drifting back to him. He feels like the sun in a weird vaguely threatening, protective solar system. It helps that Lydia never lets his glass go empty even if she switched his whiskey for tea after his third glass. He feels okay, as okay as he can be. He’s having fun actually.

There are a lot of people from high school and the town that he hasn’t seen in awhile. He’s just giving Ms. Moore, his high school English teacher, a friendly hug goodbye when he goes still as stone when he hears the song that’s playing. It’s the song that was playing (and he was singing) when Stiles first met Derek. It also doesn’t help that it’s the exact moment Derek walks into the party. Stiles avoids eye contact by swiftly turning to Danny. He must read something on Stiles face because he curses under his breath and elbows Jackson.

“Go take that song off. Now.”

Stiles still stands by what he said. It’s still a good album. He just might not want to listen to it for a while. Jackson disappears and the song is smoothly spinned out within seconds. Stiles sags a little as Danny runs a hand between his shoulder blades.

“I need a drink.”

Erica readily agrees. But doesn’t move from her spot where she’s glaring daggers at someone behind them. Stiles thinks he knows exactly who, but he nudges her as he walks past. She stamps her foot but turns around and stalks off to where Isaac is by the DJ. Stiles finds his way to the bar and motions for the bartender for another finger of whiskey. He wants to ask for two but his brain reminds him of what happened last time he had gotten drunk in this backyard. He swallows down the glass in one go. The fire down his throat is familiar and well learned. He places the glass down and sighs.

“Hmm, you _do not_ seem like the shy, antisocial type. So I’m going to go with bad breakup. Ex may or may not be here.”

Stiles turns to the man next to him, waving off the bartender’s gesture toward his glass. He really doesn’t need another. He really doesn’t need someone hitting on him even if he is handsome and older. Something about him makes Stiles' instincts stand at attention though. For him to guess that, he’d have to have been watching Stiles and had to have seen his reaction earlier. Stiles leans a hip against the bar and shrugs.

“Not exactly.”

They man has sky blue eyes and a goatee, and he smells like something familiar when he leans forward to whisper conspiratorially at him.

“Well, who said you can’t make friends at a party? I’m Peter.”

The way he turns to order his drink from the bartender provides Stiles with a clear look at the burn mark that travels down his neck and disappears into the color of his crisp button down. Stiles feels himself tense up at not knowing how to handle this. He had known that Derek might show up. Lydia failed to mention his family might be here too. He’s saved by Danny who rests a hand against his arm.

“Stiles, Lydia is looking for you.”

He grips at Danny’s wrist, a silent thank you, before turning to Peter with a nod and a polite smile. Peter is staring at him with an amused look on his face. Stiles should probably feel worse about leaving Danny with Peter, but Danny can handle himself. Stiles is lost in thought as he moves through the crowd and collides with the person in front of him. He apologizes while making sure that no drink had spilt before looking up.

“Greenberg? Uh, hi.”

He’s met with an apologetic smile. The same one he wore in high school when he told Stiles that he dented the door of his Jeep on accident. Stiles stomach churns.

“Stiles, I think we need to talk.”

“Sure?”

The shaggy haired man nods sharply. His eyes don't really meeting Stiles'.

“Look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a douche, but could you call off your guard dogs?”

Stiles blinks at him, thinks maybe he did have too much to drink, repeats that question in his head again, and comes up with an eloquent response.

“Say what?”

Greenberg doesn’t seem too interested in looking at Stiles. He’d rather look at his shoes. Just when Stiles is about to excuse himself to find Lydia, Greenberg takes a breath and lifts his head. He has a determined look on his face.

“I’ve had to replace two tires already thanks to Erica. It’s not fair that the only mechanic in town that will fix it charges me triple the amount. Or that my orders keep getting mixed up at the grill or that I’m apparently banned from the library. I just, don’t have feelings for you. And I’m in a great relationship with someone. I mean he’s older, and he would rather me call him Cupcake than his actual first name... But we’re good together, and he asked me to move in. I’m really sorry, but I don’t feel the same. And it’s my town too, and I don’t deserve this, and you deserve to be happy… but it just won’t be with me.”

The only thing Stiles can do is nod.

“Okay?”

Greenberg searches his eyes for a quick second before his shoulders slump in relief. He clutches at his chest.

“I know you probably didn’t have any say in this, but the town loves you and when they thought I broke your hear-“

“Greenberg, what a lovely surprise.”

He knows that tone of voice. That is not Erica’s surprised voice. That is definitely not a voice that anyone can make while thinking of lovely things. Stiles doesn’t care because a) it's not directed at him and b) it’s an out to a completely weird and confusing conversation with a guy he hasn’t seen in three years. Then he hears Lydia’s voice right behind him calling his name. He turns away from a distracted Greenberg blessing Lydia for her perfect timing in his head. Except when he turns around to tell her as much, he stops cold. His heart squeezes in his chest, and he can’t think, can’t move, can barely breathe because Derek is looking straight at him. Lydia pulls him closer.

"Derek, you’ve met Stiles already, but this is-”

Jackson is staring at Derek like he’s dirt under his shoe. He opens his mouth and snaps it shut just as fast because Lydia digs her heel into his instep.

“Jackson, my boyfriend. Jackson, this is the landscape architect I’ve been telling you about. He runs Alpha Architects with his sister and uncle, Laura and Peter Hale.”  
  
Derek and Stiles talk over each other, eyes wide, completely ignoring both Lydia and Jackson.  
  
“You're not the pool boy!?”  
“You're not her boyfriend!?”

They gape at each other. Stiles fights to pick up his jaw and speak. Derek looks like he’s having the same issue.  
  
“Wait, what?”

Stiles asks just as Derek speaks.

“Why the hell would you think that?”

They both stare at each other unwilling to answer before the other. Lydia sighs.

“You are both idiots, stubborn idiots.”

Stiles protests and Derek glares at her, offended. She ignores them both. Jackson doesn’t. He looks almost appalled as he speaks.

“You thought Stiles was Lydia’s boyfriend? _Why_?”

Derek turns that glare on him. Jackson’s face wilts, just a little. It's kind of awesome.

“He was here, all the time, looking after her house and her dog, and they have a history together.”

Stiles throws his hands up in indignation.

“I’m her best friend, and I love her. I mean I had a crush on her for a few years in high school before I realized that she would eat me alive and not in the good way, but seriously? That’s why you thought I was her boyfriend?”

Derek counters with a surly, “Why didn’t she get Jackson to look after the dog?”

Stiles snorts.  
  
“Because Jackson is afraid of Prada.”

Derek looks at Jackson and raises an eyebrow. Jackson goes red.  
  
“I am _not_ afraid of the damn dog.”

Stiles chuckles and smack Jackson's chest with the back of his hand.  
  
“It's true. He's more afraid of her getting hurt because of him again but potatoes, tomatoes...”

Derek’s lips tugs up, and he looks at Stiles a little fondly. Stiles smiles back. He’s missed that smile. Stiles can feel Lydia’s judging eyes on him. Lydia can fuck off.

“That’s not, that’s not how it goes.”

Stiles waves a hand in the air around him displacing the moment.

“You really thought I was her boyfriend?”

Derek, stubborn as ever, counters.

“You thought I was the pool boy?”

The asshole is smiling at him. Stiles can feel his face going red, but he refuses to back down.

“Every single time I’ve ever seen you, you were doing pool boy related things. Like cleaning the pool!”

Derek ticks up a finger.

“That was one time. I had just finished cutting some trimmings from the trellis, and they got into the pool. If I made the mess, I'm going to clean it up.”

Stiles has to bite back the ridiculous praise he wants to lavish on Derek for that.

“You were adjusting the salt levels or whatever in the pool.”

Another finger gets ticked up.

“I built the damn thing. I’m not going to let some dumbass pool boy screw it up. And again, it was one time.”

Stiles points at him. And immediately deflates because… it explains why Derek knew so much about plants and how to take care of them, and why Derek knew so much about architecture, and… Stiles clears his throat.

“I concede that I have no idea what a pool boy actually does.”

Derek smiles. It's kind of shy and hesitant. It’s a new smile for Stiles, and it makes his heart flip.

“I don’t either, but you never minded when I hung around.”

Stiles gawks because, because…

“Dude, I was hitting on you the entire summer.”

The tips of Derek's ears go red and that smile comes back with a vengeance, and yeah, his bunny teeth are still fucking adorable.

“I know.”

“Wait, what? Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you want to go out with me!?”

Derek gestures widely toward Lydia while never taking his eyes off Stiles.

“I thought you had a girlfriend!”

If Stiles was a child, he would have stamped his foot by now. Instead, he tugs at his hair.

“Then you should have told me to stop.”

Laura comes swinging in now, and she has to be Laura because the family resemblance is uncanny (and _god_ did they win the genetic lottery!?). She smiling and holding a cocktail glass full of popcorn. (Popcorn?! Where the hell did she get popcorn? Jesus, Laura is dangerous. She should have never been allowed to meet Lydia. Their friendship will destroy the world or maybe Stiles’ sanity. Whatever comes first.)

“Stiles, Derek was finished with the backyard by the end of May.”

Derek’s blush darkens, and Stiles has a very hard time not noticing how it trails down his throat, washes over his collarbones, and disappears under the collar of his henley. Laura is hanging off his shoulder smiling smugly at Stiles. The end of May? That means Derek hung around because, because he liked Stiles. Liked him enough to stick around even after he knew he wouldn’t make any move on him because he thought he had a girlfriend. And Derek Hale isn’t a home wrecker. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles by breaking up what he thought was a great relationship with a person Stiles truly cared for. But he couldn’t stop seeing him because _he liked him_. He wasted his entire summer, so he could spend it with Stiles. _Jesus Christ_. Stiles is so gone on this guy, and apparently the guy really is so gone on him.

“Somebody was piiiiiining.”

Laura walks away sing-songing the end of her sentence like a demented mockingbird. Stiles clears his throat and takes a steps closer.

“So, you’d want to get that coffee now?”

Derek hauls Stiles in by grabbing the collar of his button down. His eyes flicker over his face but always end up drifting back to his lips.

“Later.”

Stiles was right. Derek kisses like he’s drowning. It's firm pressure and hot lips, and Stiles has no intention of letting it fizzle out. He presses back. Derek steps closer like he can’t get enough of Stiles. Stiles can’t get enough of him. Everything is Derek. Derek’s lips, Derek’s tongue, Derek’s hands on him hot through his shirt. It’s very easy to ignore the cheering around him because there are fireworks going off in his head and a steady mantra of _YesYesYes_ tearing through him and burning through his veins.

He pulls away to nod. His forehead bumps against Derek’s softly because Derek refuses to let Stiles move too far away from him. Stiles' hands can’t seem to stop roaming his broad shoulders and strong back. His fingers follow the muscles and tendons that moved so elegantly under Derek's shirts in the bright sunshine as he worked. Stiles' voice is already rough and low when he finally manages to speak.

“Later. Definitely later.”

Then he’s diving back in to bite at Derek’s lips and suck on his tongue. Derek has no problems with it. He slips a thumb into Stiles jeans at his waist to swipe against the skin of his hip. Derek's other hand is cradling Stiles' head as his fingers move gently in his hair. It takes a lot of restraint on Stiles' part to not shove his hands into Derek’s pants. He does grab his ass, and swallows Derek’s gasp of surprise as he presses in even closer. Stiles only let's go of Derek long enough to flip off whoever just wolf whistled. He kisses Derek again, softer, and presses his thumbs softly under the edges of Derek's jaw as he eases himself back. Derek looks just a wrecked as Stiles feels. Stiles grins dopily at him. Happiness thrums under his skin.

“As much a Lydia thinks I am, I’m not really into voyeurism.”

Derek laughs softly grinning at him. He runs his hands over Stiles’ arms and plucks at the shirt where it’s stretched over his biceps.

“Then stop wearing clothes that are so tight.”

Stiles ducks his head to hide his grin. He was lucky that the shirt fit, but he couldn’t lift his hands above his head without fear of buttons popping. Derek hooks a finger into the top of the shirt where he left it open and tugs a little.

“It’s distracting.”

Stiles run his fingers down Derek’s chest catching his fingers in the hem of his shirt to toy with it a little.

“You’re distracting.”

Derek smirks at him.

“Do you even know what you looked like when you got out of that pool? In those shorts?”

Stiles has an idea. But he shrugs instead and splays his hand out over Derek’s sides to feel his ribs expand as he breathes. Stiles can’t seem to stop touching him now that he knows he can. Neither can Derek.

“I think you should tell me.”

Derek’s eyes go liquid and hot. He presses his head against Stiles’ temple and lets his breath ghost over his ear and down the side of his neck. Stiles shivers in anticipation. Lydia clears her throat. They both turn to glare at her. She just looks smug. Jackson looks equal parts pleased and disgusted. Scott makes an attempt to look like a concerned friend that will hurt Derek if he hurts Stiles again, but he can’t stop smiling. Stiles shakes his head fondly at them taking Derek’s hand in his own. They can all get to know Derek later, after they’ve talked about things.

“I think a celebratory drink is in order.”

Lydia lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Jackson, who grumbles but goes. Derek makes something that sounds like a snort. She gives Derek an unimpressed look.

“Please, you spent every Wednesday for the last three months pining over someone who thought you were the pool boy.”

Derek dips his head to the side in acceptance.

“Fair enough.”

Instead of pulling him in and kissing him again as a reward for holding his own with Lydia, Stiles asks a question that’s been niggling at the back of his mind since he figured out who Derek actually was.

“Who the hell is the pool boy anyway?”

Lydia pulls herself away from watching Jackson make her a drink to answer him.

“Oh, he was in school with us and on the lacrosse team, I think. Greedburn or something.”

Stiles sputters.

“Greenberg?”

Derek is shaking his head fondly used to Stiles exaggerated exasperation. Stiles steps on Derek's toes pointedly as his brain starts making quick connections and _oh_.

“The whole town thought I was in love with _GREENBERG_!?”

Stiles is glaring over at Erica who is cackling and clinging to Isaac as to not tip over. He wants to remind her that she thought it was true half an hour ago and that she slashed Greenberg’s tires _twice_. Stiles is interrupted by Derek stepping into his line of vision with a look of shock on his face.

“You’re in love with me?”

Stiles swallows nervously and rubs at his neck.

“I’m wired wrong.”

Derek steps into his space and ducks his head almost shyly until he’s peeking up at Stiles from his lashes.

“I think you’re wired right.”

Stiles feels like his heart is about to explode it is beating so hard. This time he’s the one that hauls Derek in closer by wrapping a hand around his neck and the other at his waist. But before he can kiss him again, Derek surprises him when he starts singing to the song playing over the speakers.

“ _Let me show you a few things about love_.”

And the thing is, Stiles is completely willing to let him… even if it means getting tossed into the pool for no other reason than Boyd being tired of seeing them make out. Stiles laughs because it's kind of fitting. They've ended up where they first met. He looks at Derek. His hair is flattened into a wet mess with scowl on his face that can’t seem to stay in place when he looks back at Stiles. Stiles waggles his eyebrows and starts to sing along with the song still playing over the DJ's speakers.

" _I can't wait 'til I get you on the floor, good-looking_."

The laugh and smile he gets is worth Derek dunking him underwater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. The final chapter. I made it longer and included a little Greenberg/Coach Finstock as a reward for waiting patiently. I apologize for toying with your emotions but not for my love of Justin Timberlake.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a severe lack of Pool Boy Derek fics. This is my remedy for it. It'll be a short one. Maybe 5 chapters after I flesh it out a bit.  
> Takes place a couple years down the road. Stiles is a junior in college, everyone's aged accordingly, no werewolves, no crazy Peter. 
> 
> Also, I'll probably keep using JT lyrics as titles. Because The 20/20 Experience is amazing.


End file.
